Inherited
by jbquick35
Summary: POST-INHERITANCE. The more things change, the more they stay the same. Eragon's new order of Riders is beginning to take shape. What will he do with them when trouble arises from within Alagaesia and beyond?
1. Preface

Before we begin, a few words.

I've lurked here on and off for a few years now, and, aside from some half thought out dribbles, I've never contributed to the community. I decided to rectify that.

I first picked up this series in middle school. Every week, my reading class had us go to the library and pick up a book to read during a silent reading period. I wandered about for a while until a certain book caught my eye. The entire cover was a deep, regal blue, and the front had an image of a dragon. This was around the time that a certain other middle earth based fantasy epic was immensely popular, so, naturally, it grabbed my attention. I finished it later that day.

For the next 7 years, I have looked forward to the series end, pondering and speculating as to what that end may be, as I'm sure many of you have. 12 hours ago (at the time of this writing), I finished the final words in the Inheritance Cycle. It was a fitting end to the series to be sure, but it also left me wanting more.

I wanted to witness the blossoming love between characters. I wanted to see the redemption of those characters far beyond forgiveness. I wanted to see the downfall of characters we all love. I wanted to live in this new world, to see it as it grows, prospers, declines, and grows again. To CP, his stories have been about many characters, and how they deal with the problems presented to them and grow into their roles. This is wherein I disagree. I have always viewed it as the story of Eragon and Saphira, for they are truly at the heart of this universe.

Don't get me wrong. I love many characters. I enjoy them all. In fact, the argument could be made that the many supporting characters actually have more personality than Eragon and Saphira, for these two always seem to be whatever they need to be.

Even if this may be the case, it does not change the fact that this is a coming of age story starring a dragon and her Rider. It is the life of these two that I wish to explore and expound upon primarily with this writing.

That is not to say that I will only focus upon these two. Nor does it mean that they will be the main focus of these dribbles.

The stories we shall have to discover together, for they are as much a mystery to me now as to you. Whence they take their form on the page, all will be decided.

I sincerely hope you enjoy what you find within. I am writing this for myself, but it is also my goal to give back to the community that I have spent 8 silent years with. With that said, I don't have immediate access to the first three books, so if anyone spots an inconsistency with the canon, please let me know.

May your swords stay sharp.

P.S.

I'm an ExA shipper.


	2. Prologue

**Prologue**

The sky seemed to be perennially gray, never once shifting form the melancholy shade. Thousands upon thousands of snowflakes littered the air, accenting the clouds in with a monochromatic hue. It seems as if a god had simply chosen to paint the sky gray and leave the rest of the canvas blank.

Those unfortunate enough to be caught in such a maelstrom wrapped their fur shawls tight around their shoulders and drew their hood up.

Ralof was one such person.

Icy wind bit at his face just as his feet sank half a foot with each step he took. Travelling in the dead of winter, and during a storm no less, was a miserable affair. Still, it had to be done. His duties required it of him.

In the distance ahead of him, he could make out the solid shape of what his father had told had once been named Bald Hill. Upon this hill sat the jewel of Carvahall, The Shrine of Dragon Rider.

It hadn't started off as a shrine, or so his father had told him. As the story goes, the shrine was built by Roran Stronghammer, the first earl of the Palancar Valley as a castle. He had wanted to create a safe haven for the people living there if ever they were to come under attack by some nefarious enemies that they could not defeat, namely, the Urgals; however, with the advent of The Games, Urgals had much less desire to attack isolated mountain towns. Even so, there remained those that still wished to pillage and destroy, so, in his older days wherein battle was much more difficult for him, Stronghammer converted his castle into a shrine.

The plan worked marvelously. No longer did his village appear as a target; it now appeared as a place of reverence. Climbing out of the mountains to visit the shrine had become a sort of pilgrimage for many Urgal tribes. Ralof had even heard from a passing trader that it was forbidden by Urgal law to desecrate the 'birth-home of the firesword.'

It was towards this shrine that Ralof headed, for his line had guarded and protected it since its inception, starting with Stronghammer himself. He was its curator, priest, historian, and gatekeeper.

As he approached, he could begin to make out the shape of the shrine. It was rectangular in nature, and where each one of the corners should be, cylindrical battlements erupted from the ground.

_It is as fine and sturdy a structure as any human could make, and almost as plain as one, _Ralof thought, _until one travels inside. _

As if in agreement with this statement, the thick oak doors that guarded the entrance to the shrine gave way with a loud creek.

The interior of the shrine was in sharp contrast to its humble stone walls. Instead of a floor of stone, planks of wood were wedded to the floor, which was bare and earthy. A skylight was cut out of the ceiling. But instead of a covering of glass, pink lattice of crystal traversed the empty space, casting a faint fiery glow upon the main chamber. Stranger still was the single oak tree that sat directly under the skylight. Ralof had once asked his father if it was wise to have a tree inside because it would one day. He simply laughed and pointed to the rose crystal.

Within it, he explained, was a magic discovered by the Dwarves and expounded upon by Elven craftsmen. Whenever light passed through the crystal, a certain amount of energy would be absorbed and transferred to another location. The resulting energy would pass through unimpeded. This design allowed the tree enough energy to sustain itself, but not enough to grow. In this way, the tree would never outgrow its soil.

Where the extra energy went, Ralof had not a clue. He liked to imagine that it constantly emanated from the surface of the shrine, acting as a sort sun, providing heat and happiness to those that lived nearby.

Quickly, for he had realized that he spent too much time contemplating various facets of the shrine itself, he set about his duties. Ralof walked to the opposite side of the tree, where he ascended the stair case to the upper floor. He alit from the stairs onto a loft that overlooked the central chamber of the shrine. The loft doubled as a library of sorts. One wall contained an impressive oak shelf with books and scrolls that dated back hundreds of years. A copy of Domia Abr Wyrda lay open on a desk nearby.

The wall opposite the books was adorned with a tapestry of rich blue. Sewn unto the tapestry was a depiction of a dragon in flight, her rider in tow. The dragon was depicted in the act of releasing jet of flame as blue as the tapestry itself. The rider held in his hand a sword as blue and magnificent as the scales of the dragon that he rode upon. It also appeared to be on fire. Both the dragon's fire and the flames that enveloped the blade had a faint glow, for, like the crystal above his head, it had been created and enchanted by master craftsmen.

There was a single knock on the door.

Ralof acquiesced by discontinuing his admiration of the tapestry and making his way towards the door. Upon opening it, he said, "Why, hello, Vanir. I admit I didn't expect you to arrive so early."

"And still, I am here," replied his visitor.

"That you are!" Ralof chuckled. "Where are my manners? Please, please, come in."

The one called Vanir entered, immediately making his way to the tree. Here, he paused and scowled. "You should not be hindering this one's life."

"So you say. But the Urgals always seem fascinated," replied Ralof with a grin.

"Hmm."

After his short stop at the tree, Vanir, for that was surely his name, made his way towards the tapestry on the upper alcove. At this he paused. And smiled.

Twisting his hand in the way specific to his race, he said, "I wonder if I could match you, even now. Probably, for you were always slow with a blade." Vanir smiled again. He dropped his voice and spoke again. "I hope you two are doing well. If the Queen finds out that you've been getting yourselves into mischief again, she might just decide to come reprimand you herself." He chuckled at his own joke, a low, throaty noise that sounded as if leaves were rustling over bark.

"When will they arrive?" Vanir asked.

"It shouldn't be long now. I can't imagine the storm will have delayed them too much."

"Hmm."

Another knock on the door signified the accuracy of Ralof's prediction. He opened the door. Standing outside were four hooded figures, all wearing matching sapphire blue cloaks with a small blue gemstone placed into a brooch around each of their necks. The figure on the far left was shorter than the rest, while the one on the far right towered over his companions by no less than a foot. Ralof bid them inside.

"Vanir, it appears our guests have finally arrived," he said. Then, speaking to four assembled before him, he said, "I hope the journey was not made too difficult by the snow."

"Bah!" It was the short one who spoke first. "It would take more than snow to dissuade us from this, me thinks!" His voice was thick and raspy, and sounded as if honey had made its way into one of the Dwarves machines of war.

"Short-beard speaks truth," added the tall one in a booming echo. "I bite harder than all of these tiny teeth."

Ralof chuckled. "No doubt. Now, if you would please return your cloaks…"

One by one, the party members shed their outer wears. Before him stood representatives of the four races of Alagaesia: a dwarf, a human, an elf, and an urgal.

"Vanir, if you would," called Ralof.

As if summoned, Vanir appeared before the assembled quartet. Out of the satchel that he carried, he produced a smooth, oblong stone. It seemed to pulse with light, but whether that was a trick from the crystal above or something produced by the dusky orange hue of the stone itself was unknown. Regardless of the cause, it glowed as if it was the very embodiment of the setting sun, constantly shifting between dark oranges and bright yellows, interspersed with veins of white and purple. With great tenderness, Vanir placed the stone at the base of the tree. As the shadows from the leaves flitted to and fro, it seemed as if the stone had come alive.

A silence had prevailed amongst those assembled. Where once there might have been an atmosphere of uneasy gibes and the hint of camaraderie, now hung an air of reverence and wonder.

Ralof was the first to break the silence. "Congratulations are in order, it would seem." He nodded to the four travelers. "Congratulations on winning The Games! As you can see, your reward is here. Let us begin."

One by one, he motioned towards the victors to approach the stone. He bade the urgal first, who extended one large hand and cupped the stone with it. After some time, the urgal withdrew, obviously disappointed. This act was repeated with both the dwarf and human victors. Neither experienced any change in the stone. Finally, the elf was permitted to approach.

Almost as soon as she, for the elf was the only female victor, made contact with the stone, a small crack appeared down its center. The stone began to shake. A few moments later, more cracks appeared, weaving a black web across the stones fiery surface. Then, as soon as it had begun, the movement stopped. A loud cry emanated from the center of the stone, and, suddenly, the stone burst apart, exploding in all directions from the inside. In its place there stood a creature as deep and brilliant as the setting sun. The light from the crystals refracted off of its scales, making it appear as it was on fire.

The creature looked up at the elf and cocked its head to one side, as if waiting for something spectacular to happen. In response, she extended her left hand, towards the creature. The contact was brief, but in that moment, the elf recoiled, as if marked with some kind of deadly magic. She looked down at her hand. Where she had touched the creature, a shining white mark had appeared.

Ralof once again broke the silence.

"It appears we're in the presence of the next Dragon Rider."


	3. Chapter 1

Thanks for the reviews so far! This is the first fanfic that I really want to finish, so any and all encouragement is greatly appreciated. I'll try to keep updates coming, but I can't make any promises at this point. Finals are starting pretty soon, and I'll be really busy with those. But stick with me, for winter break is just around the corner!

With that said, let's officially begin our journey together!

* * *

><p>Chapter 1<p>

_An iridescent moon hung low over the sky, accentuating the rolling tides of a nearby lake with streaks of sparkling silver. A light breeze wafted across the night, bringing with it the scent of the pine needles that it danced around. A fallen tree, decayed from age, lied nearby, like an old dog that refused to move from the fireside. _

_ Upon the tree sat a solitary woman with an arched back and a face trained on the ghostly image of the moon. Out of her mouth there came a keen wail, a range of quiet sounds that told of profound sadness. Such was the melancholy of her voice that slumbering song birds had awoken and begun to sing along with her. _

_ Her voice told of many things, both happy and morose. It spoke of adventure, of camaraderie, of friendship. But it also spoke of death, of loss, and of loneliness. _

_ More than anything else, her voice spoke of love._

_ It was a great love; one that pervades all things. It was present when she experienced the utmost joys in her life, but it was also responsible for the greatest tragedies that had befallen her. _

_ Judging by her song, one could guess that she had been forced to give up the love that guided her so. _

_ The snap of a broken twig shattered her mournful reveries, alerting her to the presence of an intruder. She stopped singing, but she refrained from moving, for she knew her intruder all too well. _

_ Her intruder approached, slowly and silently, for he wished not to disturb her, lest she turn on him. She seemed to have acquiesced to his presence, for she shifted slightly to create a space for him next to her. _

_ As he rested next to her, he too began to gaze at the moon. She responded by leaning her right shoulder against his left side and laying her head upon his shoulder. Without either breaking their staring contest with the moon, their hands found one another. As their fingers intertwined, her singing began again, this time accompanied by her intruder. _

_ When they finally ended their mournful tune, the man on the right exhaled a deep sigh._

_ "And how beautiful you are, Arya Svit-Kona."_

* * *

><p>Eragon awoke with a start. A grimy pool of sweat had accumulated across his back and shoulders and in his slumber he had thrown his bed coverings onto the floor. His left hand had grasped the knife he slept with and, for some reason, did not seem willing to relinquish it. Slowly, he forced his fingers to relinquish their death grip on the handle of the weapon, while shaking his head as if to clear it of what he had seen.<p>

After the Agheti Blodrhen, His normal dreams had been replaced with waking ones. It was more of a state of meditation and tranquility than that of sleep as most humans know it. It seemed, however, that he still could dream on occasion. He likened it to his ability to grow a beard; perhaps it was merely a trinket of his brief existence as a pure human.

He momentarily considered whether or not his dream had been a vision of what might yet come to be. _Not likely,_ he decided. After all, he had only ever had a few dreams of that nature, and had chalked them up to a combination of several different magical factors – most notably, the Eldunari that had been combing the land and silently manipulating events.

Shoving the dream aside, he reached out for his dragon with his mind and established the familiar link that had held them together for all these years.

_Saphira!_

At first, nothing happened. Then, as if awakening from a deep slumber, a reply came in what could only be described as a mental yawn.

_Why must you wake me so…early? _she admonished half-heartedly. A great blue eyelid opened halfway.

"You know as well as I do that a new Rider is arriving today." Eragon spoke aloud merely for his own benefit. The slight warmth that arose within his throat helped to wake him fully. "I thought it would be best if you had time to prepare. We both know how much you like to terrify the new ones," he said with a chuckle.

_Is it wrong for me to want to look my best for our new friends?_

Eragon laughed. _Let's just hope our new friend isn't another dwarf. You practically made Anul wet himself. _

_If he needed to relieve himself so badly, then I'm satisfied that I could aid him in his endeavor, _she huffed. Without another thought, Saphira leapt out of the keep that the two shared, her dazzling scales sending an amalgam of different shades of blue off in every direction as the morning light burned against them. Eragon rose out of bed to watch her soar. Nothing was more spectacular than a dragon in flight.

Turning away from the broad section of wall that he had neglected to build so that Saphira may come and go as she pleases, Eragon walked towards the mirror and basin that adorned the other end of his chambers.

Looking back at him was his father, Brom. Or what Brom would have looked like as an elf in his mid -thirties. His jaw was angular. His cheekbones high. His ears pointed. But among these traits were his father's chin and, at least assumed, his nose. Eragon had even grown a beard that resembled the one Brom once wore. Whether or not this was an act of reverence or merely an experiment born of boredom and occupation was a question not even he could answer.

Eragon busied himself with washing away the sweat that had accumulated during the course of his dream, while attempting to scrub away the dream itself. Once that was accomplished, he made his appearance agreeable in the mirror and casted a spell of scrying.

"Good morning, Ralof," he said.

"Uncle!"

Eragon smiled. He had instructed Ralof, as well as his father and his father's father, to refer to him as uncle. It was slightly jarring, as Ralof now looked about ten years older than him, but he preferred the term uncle to great-great-great anything.

They chatted for a while about nothing in particular: the weather, the fall harvests, the newborns. Some town gossip. Which families had become joined. The sort of things Eragon wouldn't have even found interesting at 16. Then the talk shifted to the goings on of Doru Istalri mae Flauga, Eragon's home. Eragon told him of the different projects they were attempting. Things like the construction on the city and the landscape and all the other details that bothered Eragon, though he would never show it.

"She arrives today then?" Eragon asked.

"Aye, Uncle. She departed from Du Weldenvarden two fortnights ago. I imagine she'll be eager to get off the boat," Ralof replied, a smile forming on his lips. He knew very well the reasons that Eragon insisted upon the long ride from Du Weldenvarden to Doru Istalri, and he thought his uncle brilliant for coming up with them.

Having the new Rider travel with their dragon through Du Weldenvarden gave Eragon some political power within the forest. The elves would gather and praise the new pairing, singing ancient songs of celebration. It gave them a reason to actually like him where many simply tolerated him before. Killing Galbatorix had certainly given him considerable respect, and he knew that the Elves were not a race soon to forget, but he wanted to be sure that he could count on them as allies. The lands around Doru Istalri were well explored, but he knew not of what perils lay even further east. It was safer, he concluded, to maintain alliances within Alagaesia.

The trip through the forests also acclimated the potential rider and dragon to the ancient language, so that teaching it would be much easier later on. After all, he had made no greater headway with the language himself than when he was immersed in it.

His reasoning for the long boat ride down the Gaena and Edda rivers was slightly more malicious.

By the time a future rider had reached Du Weldenvarden, their dragon partner was usually large enough to hunt and fend for themselves. By the time the pair was on their way out, a dragon could usually maintain sustained flight. Then, the four week journey down the river gave the pair time to grow together while providing the dragon time to practice flying. Once the pair reached him, they were usually mature and comfortable enough for a first flight.

After nearly an entire moon on the water, most riders were more than ready to reach solid land. Eragon would always reach them before they could disembark and order them to follow him on dragonback. The results were about as funny as one could imagine. Most would give him an incredulous look and gingerly crawl up their partner's back, not knowing where to sit. Once they were ready, Eragon would take off, forcing his new students to pursue him. He never made them ride for more than half a mile before Saphira alit upon dry land.

The new riders would usually seethe in pain from the sores that opened on their legs, and most dragons were overjoyed to finally share a first flight with their partners. After healing the wounds on his students, Eragon would always offer the same explanation.

"You must learn to trust your partner just as you trust the ground you walk on, for your bond is as unbreakable as the earth itself." These words were actually Saphira's, but they both agreed that it would be easier for the rider to understand if they heard it from him.

One smart elf had replied with something about earthquakes once, which made his new master smile.

"Thank you, Ralof," Eragon said, with a smile of his own. "I enjoy our conversations."

"As do I, Uncle. You must come visit Palancar Valley sometime. The people would be very appreciative."

Eragon thought for a moment. "Someday soon," he answered. And then, falling back into his old ways, he added, "I promise."

Eragon could tell that this made his too many times to count great nephew very happy by the way his eyes illuminated and his chin snapped up. He could still see remnants of his cousin, even now. But this was no surprise to him. After all, Roran was strong willed. He was sure to have strong blood.

After a few more pleasantries and good-byes, Eragon ended the spell. A voice filled his head.

_You should not make more promises. We were hard pressed to keep them the last time. _Saphira's words sounded almost like a reprimand, and indeed, they might have been, but Eragon could feel the lingering sadness that permeated their meaning.

_ Making promises is much easier in this language._ A wave of sadness flitted across their bond before either could stop it. He forced himself to discard the thoughts. He had duties to attend to. Traipsing all over the world was something he simply could not do.

_Shall we greet out new friends, then?_ he asked. As if in response, a shimmering blur of blue dove past the open end of his chambers. Eragon threw on a shirt and rushed towards the open wall, bounding across the stone floor with two easy strides. Without a moment's hesitation, he threw himself into the air, giddy with excitement and vertigo as wind rushed through his hair. He quickly caught up to Saphira, as she had slowed her descent with her wings. Eragon grabbed one of her tail spikes, each now longer than he was, and spun himself so that he landed on her back with a satisfying _thud._

_You're backwards! _Saphira snorted.

Grinning with embarrassment, Eragon righted himself, taking in his surroundings as he did so. A vast, green valley swallowed the land beneath them. A small river, a tributary from the Edda, forked its way through the mountains and into the basin, where it culminated in a small lake. A miniature forest, teeming with creatures Ergaon had never seen in Alagaesia, began at the lake and continued towards the nearby mountains, which encircled the valley on three sides.

If he had continued to face in the opposite direction, which would have no doubt been quite amusing for Saphira, he would have seen the city that they have worked so hard to build over the last century.

Instead, Eragon chose to focus on the valley floor, where the elves had sung houses out of trees. _That's the problem with elves, _he thought. _They lack imagination. _

_Some, perhaps. But you still resemble an elf more than Blodhgarm does. _

This made Eragon smile. He could always count on Saphira to bring him back to modesty, even if he did not always have the same effect on her.

_I heard that, _she said.

_Forgive me, O' wise one, _he replied in mock veneration. The exchange had him in fits of laughter. Saphira seemed to enjoy herself as well, for she was humming.

They made their way out of the valley, following the water below them. After a few minutes of uneventful flying, a wide body of water, larger across than Saphira came into the river floated a raft of sung wood, curved up at both ends to protect against the currents that dominated this part of the Edda. The head of a dragon was carved on the bow.

_Shall we dance? _Eragon asked.

_We shall. _

Saphira arched her back and sent a jet of brilliant cerulean fire towards the heavens. She let out a bugle before pulling her wings tight and diving into a corkscrew. More glaring fire erupted from her maw as she dived faster and faster. It seemed as if she was going to crash into river before she finally snapped open her wings and glided to safety. Now it was Eragon's turn.

He reached out with his mind until he contacted his new student. She attempted to block him out, but she stood no chance against the combined prowess of the more experienced pair. Across the new link he had established, he said, _If you wish to become a rider, mount your dragon and follow us._ He could sense some reluctance and hesitation from her, but he refused to allow her to voice her concerns. As quickly as it had been established, Eragon severed their link and together, he and Saphira proceeded to fly downriver, well outpacing the raft below them.

Saphira loosed the low, rough sound that signified her laughter. _I do enjoy our games. It has been far too long since we have made time for such levity. We shall fly together more often,_ she decreed.

Eragon consented, though they both knew they had little time for fun. Training their new riders was no easy undertaking.

After they had flown a sizeable distance down the river, Saphira veered off sharply, descending slowly toward a clearing on the north bank. She landed with a soft thud as the moist ground absorbed her weight.

Eragon leisurely undid the straps bounding his legs, examining their surroundings as he did so. They were surrounded on all sides by ancient pine trees, each as large around as Saphira's chest. Mossy lichens hung from the shortest branches, as if they were holding up a velvet curtain that blocked out the rest of the world. Sap, thick and sweet, seeped from open wounds in the bark, no doubt the work of the indigenous birds.

The pair spent the next several minutes in silence, enjoying the obscurity and silence. Eragon had chosen this particular clearing for his initial meeting with his students because it so reminded him of the one that Saphira had kidnapped him to all those years ago.

He had been angry with her at first, due to the sores that had developed during the flight, but reflection had tempered his malice. Not only was it the first time he had flown, it was the first time in his life that he had been able to taste freedom. Nothing, he realized later on, would be able to suppress or inhibit him. Eragon secretly hoped that those that came to him would also be able to experience such pleasures, for Dragons are forces of nature unto themselves. It is only fitting that their Riders learn to enjoy the independence that came with their shining palms.

A dragon's roar pierced through the brief tranquility the trees had provided. Eragon looked up. Approaching from the river was a glowing mass of fire, as if the sun had descended from its perch within the heavens. As it became ever closer, he could begin to make out different features this particular sun possessed. Milky white spines protruded from the mahogany scales that adorned its back, and its underside was protected by fiery orange armor that seemed to dance with the sun. Wings the same color as the trees Eragon had surrounded himself with broke open with a snap as the dragon attempted to slow himself for the landing.

The added weight of his Rider proved too much for the young dragon, and it sent the pair flying forward when he attempted to touch ground.

Eragon had to suppress the urge to laugh. Saphira made no such effort. Loud scraping noises and sheets of blue fire filled the clearing as Eragon dismounted and walked to where his new pupils now lied. He could see that the flight had done no justice on her legs, rending wounds similar to the ones he remembered. He reached into her consciousness, and in the ancient language said, _You have done well. The first time is never so easy. Rest where you lie._

Eragon squatted on his haunches and studied his new pupils' injuries. He quietly muttered, "Waíse heill_." _As if seized by an invisible thread, the sores on her legs began to close. He then made his way to where her dragon had stopped. A branch the size of a man's wrist had pierced his wing.

Again, he reached out with his mind toward the dragon, and, in the ancient language, instructed the youngling to be still for a moment. Eragon grasped the in branch in one hand, bracing the dragon's wing with the other. In one deft movement, he pulled the limb clear of the wing, causing a torrent of hot blood to gush out of the thin membranes and a dragon's howl to split the sky. Once more, he casted a spell of healing, sealing and soothing the wound.

_Rise Isilindil. Rise Bjartskula. For we have much to discuss,_ he spoke to both of them.

The pair picked themselves up from the damp ground, dusting of the moss that had managed to transfer unto them during their landing. The rider, and elf, had a wary look about her, as if she had been plagued by many troubles within her lifetime. The dragon, on the other hand, arose with such vivacity that even Saphira was impressed.

_Peace, young ones, _she bade them. _You are now among friends. _

"Before we begin," spoke Eragon, "we must know how to address each other. While you are within our company, you shall refer to us as Ebrithil or elda. And to us you shall be known as you are. Isilindil, daughter of Taranis, and," Eragon gestured towards the dragon.

A distinctly male voice, filled with vigor rang throughout his mind. _My name is Solus,_ it said with enthusiasm.

_A fitting name, at that,_ replied Saphira. _It shall give your enemies cause for worry when told that the sun itself hunts them. _She released a jet of flame skyward to accentuate her approval.

"I trust you are familiar with the Ancient Language?" Eragon asked. They nodded in assent. "Very good. While you are here, you are to speak to us only in that language; however, we shall not dictate how you wish to speak your private thoughts or in what language you wish to address your fellows." He paused before adding, "But, if you wish to be of aid, you will speak to Jaarzul with only the old tongue. It irritates him to no end," he explained with a wry smile.

"Yes, Masters."

_Yes, Masters. _Solus added, _I think I shall enjoy that. _

Eragon smiled and nodded while Saphira emitted a light hum. He proceeded back towards Saphira and mounted her, bading Isilindil to join him. "Let us allow him to regain his wings," he explained. Saphira sprung into the sky as soon as her passengers were situated, taking particular care to make sure Eragon was actually facing the right direction. Solus followed close behind, the absence of weight allowing him to soar through the air with ease.

Eragon noticed that Isilindil had a look of worry upon her face as she gazed towards the flying form of Solus. Her eyes never left his hide, darting back and forth as he dived to and fro. He shared this information with Saphira.

_It is right to worry, young one, _she said to Isilindil. _I have had to fight tooth and claw to keep this one, _she formed a mental picture of Eragon as a youth,_ safe throughout the years. _

Isilindil was curious as to the meaning of Saphira's words, and Saphira could sense this through their link. This time, it was Eragon who spoke. "If I could tell you the number of times that she threatened to kidnap me, I would. Alas, it is too many for any sane person to count."

_If you would stop poking bears with sticks, I would not have to treat you so,_ Saphira chided.

Eragon smiled. "The bond between dragon and rider," he explained to Isilinidil, "is not just about two beings being together for the rest of their lives. You lose sense of yourself. Where once you existed as two, you now belong together. It is ever more important, then, that a bond of trust exists between you, so that you may operate independently if need be."

_Bah! _Saphira cried. _Do not listen to him. He is as senile as an old man!_

This exchange brought a smile to Isilindil's lips; however, this smile was soon erased as she gazed upon their destination. In its place, a blank look of wonder resided.

"Master, how did you?"

"We sung," he answered mischievously.

Living in both Tronjheim and Du Weldenvarden had given Eragon an idea. Instead of houses that were sung from trees that a dragon could easily destroy with fire or fang, he imagined a series of stone keeps, similar to the ones on Voenguard. The difference, as he had once explained to Blodhgarm, would be that they would sing the houses right out of the mountain.

Blodhgarm and the other elves had seemed puzzled over this, until Eragon explained that they would not actually be asking the rock to grow. They would sing for trees to grow into specific shapes on the mountain that would act as supports, and then they would use magic to simply move the rock to match. Once in place, Saphira would melt the rock into a solid fixture. The result would be solid structures that appeared as if they had been cultivated by the gods themselves.

Each keep consisted of a half cylinder that jutted straight from the mountain, resembling towers or trees. A web of ledges and paths criss-crossed across the rock face, connecting the different keeps to one another. In all, there were nine keep, two larger than the rest. These two, as Eragon explained, contained their library and great hall. The other seven served as living quarters for the riders and their dragons. Currently, only three were in use.

"Which one is yours, Master?"

Eragon pointed to a keep, slightly larger than the rest, near to where snow caps started to appear on the mountainside. No ledges extended to that altitude. The only way to reach it was with a set of wings.

"Now, Isilindil, we have come upon your quarters," he said, indicating one of the smaller keeps halfway down the mountain. As they approached, a ring of stones, alternating pink and white, could be seen guarding the broad opening in the rocky expanse.

"Eragon-elda, these are magnificent," said Isilindil. "Your craftsmanship could surely match the dwarves." There was unease in her voice. "But it seems as if they are all missing their northern walls."

"Aye. That was a rather crafty idea on my part," Eragon responded, pride evident in his voice. "Tell me, do you see the stones set into either side of the gap?"

She nodded.

"The pink ones absorb energy from the sun. I believe they were discovered on a joint venture between the elves and the dwarves. The white ones are of a particular crystal that we found within these mountains. We know not the reason, but they are capable of holding enchantments longer than other materials. In addition, casting magic unto them takes very little energy. We have cast enchantments to protect against the elements on the crystals, and, after the initial enchantment, the gems provide enough energy to keep the magic flowing."

Isilindil nodded in conformation.

_She is impressed, I think,_ Saphira said to him.

_At least one of them is! Anul acted as if it was the only logical thing, and even Haldamir seemed hardly moved! _Eragon cried in mock exasperation.

_Tenna enjoyed it, _she replied.

_She enjoys everything._

_She is similar to you, in that regard._

_Am I really that bad?_

Saphira chose not to answer him with words. Instead, an influx of images exploded within his mind's eye, each showing a picture of Eragon doing something foolhardy or strange with a smile in his eyes. After an image of him sopping wet and communicating with clams, he acquiesced. Saphira responded with a hum that reverberated so violently, it threatened to dislodge her two passengers.

Slowing her flight, Saphira began to descend down towards the keep. The interior was made up of two sections, partitioned about a third of the way up by a stone ceiling. It was within the higher section that she made her landing, Solus on her heel.

Eragon dismounted from Saphira, bidding Isilindil to follow suit. He watched as she immediately rushed to Solus' side and began to fret over his previous injuries.

"During your time with us, these shall be your quarters," he told them. "The upper chamber acts as a roost where Solus may come and go as he pleases. Below us is where you shall find your accommodations."

"Thank you, masters," replied Isilindil. "But may inquire as to the size of this place?" She pointed around the room. Indeed, it was large enough for Solus to fly around comfortably. "We need not such a great room," she explained.

Eragon simply smiled.

Without warning, a great expanse of shimmering white flame, large enough to fill the entrance to the keep, erupted from outside. A dragon's roar echoed throughout the valley, causing several flocks of birds to ascend rapidly from their nests. A great white shadow crossed the keep's opening and began to circle its outer walls.

Isilindil dropped down into a crouch, readying herself for attack. Solus retreated a few yards, preparing to leap at the unknown aggressor.

Eragon and Saphira remained motionless.

The white shadow launched itself through the doorway, releasing more iridescent flames in all directions. It paused at the opposite end of the keep, landing with a heavy _thunk_ that shook the building. A figure dismounted from the dragon's back and bounded towards Isilindil in a few easy strides.

"Hi!" the figure said to Isilindil in a cheery feminine voice. Grasping one if Isilindil's hands with both of hers, she said, "My name's Tenna! What's yours?"

Eragon inwardly groaned. _Surely you can't mean that I was ever this bad?_

More images of Eragon acting foolish flooded his mind.

"Isilindil and Solus, meet your fellow apprentices, Tenna and Sveta."

In response to Eragon's statement, Tenna beamed and Sveta released another jet of white fire. "Don't worry," he added. "Sveta's harmless." The jet of fire enveloped Eragon, singing his eyebrows. "Well, he's mostly harmless."

With that, Eragon mounted Saphira. The pair took off, allowing their students to become better acquainted. _Do you think we should have left them with those two? _he asked Saphira.

_It is like you said. Sveta is harmless. _

_But Tenna,_ he countered, _can leave you breathless for days afterwards. _More images of him asking endless questions were conveyed across their link. _I like to think that a century has tempered my…exhaustive… qualities. _

_Not quite yet, little one. _

_Am I still so little?_

_You grow smaller with each passing year!_

Eragon laughed and Saphira hummed, both in good spirits as they made the journey up the mountain to their quarters. The day was still young and there was much to be done, but for now, in the sun and open air, they were content.

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading!<p> 


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